


Out of the Wood's

by my_thestral



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Devious Harry, Happy Ending, Infidelity, M/M, Massage, Matchmaker Harry, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Draco wanted was to get warm... and relax a little...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Wood's

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say - my favourite pairing again, it just feels right and there's a lot of explosive potential. I've already got ideas for at least two different pairings, but no time to bring them to life. I needed a break from the longer fic (well, two, actually :P) I'm currently working on and I came up with this. Sadly, very much un-betaed, but if you're volunteering, let me know! ;)  
> And - oh, yeah - no money made nor there ever will be, not with any of this as it is not mine to begin with. (hope this counts as disclaimer)

With a sigh of utter contentment Draco Malfoy lay down on a massage table. Bloody hell, when did Christmas shopping get so exhausting?! Apparently, when you were 25, your body has been through a string of sincerely meant Cruciatus curses, the English weather has vampirized into something penguins would run from screaming and you were forced to do the said shopping with your wife…  
  
The woman chattered incessantly and it was driving Draco barking mad. While he had much enjoyed having talks and gossip with his mother, Astoria Malfoy, neé Greengrass, was a different game. His mother had been subtle and witty in her remarks , having an impeccable taste in choosing a subject of her conversation, while Astoria… well, she just chewed on everything and everybody, didn’t she, never quitting her nervous gleeful laughter, constantly attempting to direct Draco’s attention towards this insignificant individual or the other, slowly making his brain melt for all the wrong reasons…  
  
If he didn’t lose his taste in the Unforgivables during the war, he’d probably be on his way to Azkaban by now while the world mourned the loss of the greatest chatterbox ever conceived. But perhaps Azkaban wouldn’t be so bad with Dementors gone? What were a few years of solitude compared to a lifetime of auditory overload ahead of him!?  
  
His sanity – and probably his freedom – was saved by the sight of warm light, pouring out of the large windows of a portly building, advertising Wood’s Health Club for Wizards. The weirdest people demonstrated their unexpected talent for business after the war and Oliver Wood, the former Quidditch prodigy, was one of them. He had been hit by one curse too many during the war and with a career in Quidditch no longer an option, he opened a small gentlemen’s health club on the edge of the Diagon Alley. The word in the Ministry hallways, where Draco occasionally worked as contracted consultant for an obnoxious fee, was that Wood was granted his initial loan by his old Quidditch team-mate, the Holy Potter himself and obviously, the Saviour had a good nose for business – there was many a wizard out there that needed his health restored and maintained after the war and the establishment that offered medical check-up – discreetly, of course – work out, relaxation and downright pampering was an instant success.  
  
Within 2 years the location in the Diagon Alley was merely the first of many; a chain of similar establishments under the brand of “Wood’s Health” stretched throughout England and for a good reason: they offered top quality, even luxury at affordable prices for nearly everyone (and some simple charity services for literally everyone), as well as certain… programmes available only to the premium customers. Yes, going “to the Wood’s” these days more often came to mean the visit to the health club than an actual stroll among the trees. Their training halls were notorious for looking every bit like the torture halls, but once you’ve been through their Inferno, they were followed by the most luxurious pampering services ever introduced to the wizarding world. Their baths were pristinely clean, large enough to have a swim in, adorned with bubbles, scents, sounds and colours, even illusionary effects and very private – their most appealing quality. And their massage services…  _oh_ …  
  
And  _this_  was what Draco Malfoy was really after when his numb brain greedily caught the warm light of the club: a long relaxing massage under experienced hands that would heat up and loosen-up his frozen aching muscles and make him forget this nightmare of a day. Massage was something he could not have at home. The bath in the Manor could still dwarf anything the Wood’s had to offer, of course, and if he wished to, he could install some of the god-awful training machines to keep him in shape. But massage… House elves were the only service staff he was comfortable with – paid staff, as of late, following the crazy Granger-Weasley’s decree – and he could not imagine unfamiliar humans strolling about the Manor. The very thought made him shiver –as did the thought of an house elf giving him a massage – so going to the Wood’s was his only option really, when he was in pursuit of absolute relaxation.  
  
Without hesitation he managed a quick peck on the cheek of his young wife, still caught up in a monologue about this scandalous affair or another and left her with a quick:  “I’m so sorry, Astoria, but I really do have an urgent appointment. Business, you see. Boring stuff, really. Don’t bother waiting about, I might be a while. I’ll see you at home, then. Enjoy the rest of the shopping, love, and be sure to get me something nice!”  
  
And off he was before she could recover her wits about and ask him how on Merlin’s earth was she supposed to get a wagon’s worth of shopping bags he’s left her with to the Manor all by herself.  
  
~  
  
Simply entering the warmly lit reception room of the club brought a rare smile to his lips. Yes, this was to be his small piece of Heaven tonight amidst the harsh reality of the world outside. Immediately notified of his arrival, he was greeted by Oliver Wood himself, as he always was – the man became impeccably versed in the etiquette of treating his top clients, this was part of his success. And it didn’t hurt his business a bit that he was still a very fit and very attractive man. Draco always thought his eyes got their much needed rest when Oliver Wood was in sight and though he was not daft enough to get himself involved with such a highly prominent figure of the wizarding world - especially because he took great efforts to keep his sexual… preference a private matter to all but a few very well paid regular providers – he was still mildly pleased when his narrow hand disappeared in the big palms of a former Quidditch champion.  
  
“Mr. Malfoy… how very nice to see you,” Oliver Wood seemed genuinely pleased to have been able to set eyes on him and Draco flattered himself by thinking it was not merely because of a large monthly premium he was pouring into this place. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit tonight?”  
  
“Nice to see you as well, Wood. I think I’ll just go for one of my regular massages. Take the edge of my mind a little.”  
  
The pretty brunette’s face sunk a little: “I’m afraid I can’t humour you with your regular masseur tonight, Mr. Malfoy. You see, Dennis was taken ill, this horrid weather had gotten to him quite badly, I’m afraid… but I do have a replacement, if you’re interested,” he offered quickly, when he saw disappointment flash in the grey eyes of his most esteemed customer. “He’s not a regular employee, I suppose you could say he’s here on some sort of… exchange, but he’s every bit professional and very able as I’m told. Perhaps if you’re willing to give it a try…”  
  
“Oh, alright then, I suppose there can’t be much amiss if you personally recommend him,” shrugged Draco, finding the prospect of returning out there to his wife with his body as cramped as it was highly unattractive.  
  
“Very well,” Wood sounded genuinely relieved and called on one of the boys-in-waiting. “Prepare the table for Mr. Malfoy here and see for the complimentary box of Belgian dark to be delivered in the room.”  
  
Belgian dark was Draco’s favourite chocolate, ridiculously expensive; every hand-made bonbon filled with a different surprise filling that simply exploded in one’s mouth in an almost orgasmic symphony of tastes. Draco  _loved_  Oliver Wood. He really knew how to make a nearly-ruined man’s evening end in bliss.  
  
He was lead in a warm cosy room, exquisitely lit to provide for an atmosphere of privacy and relaxation, and he proceeded to strip. He liked that part. He enjoyed seeing his lean long muscles revealed; an action inevitably accompanied by a flicker of admiration in every single boy’s eyes when his marble skin shone in the candle-light. He knew he was gorgeous. He liked reading it in another’s eyes. With merely a soft plush towel wrapped around his waist he dismissed the boy and finally lay down on the massage table, closed his eyes and exhaled in pure enjoyment.  _This_ … was going to be beautiful.  
  
He felt the change as soon as the warm strong fingers touched him. These were not soft, almost effeminate hands of his usual masseur, making him relax by their light touch alone. These were strong powerful hands with patches of hard calloused skin; hands of a man in charge, hands perfectly able to tame and take control. It took Draco’s breath away and he nearly froze. There was a familiar sensation connected to that touch somewhere inside his synapses, but he couldn’t quite place it, it just felt…  _right_. He heard the man open a bottle of scented oil… and close it before he could pour any of it out. Instead there was a soft chuckle and suddenly something cold and tiny touched the heated skin on his back and he shivered.  
  
Tiny cold blocks were neatly lined down his spine, quickly warming up to his body temperature and he gasped when he realized what it was. Chocolate… the kinky bastard had placed the world’s most expensive chocolate down his spine to god knows what end and now it was melting slowly along with Draco’s self control. The man had barely touched him, but there was something about him, about his presence, that was making Draco’s bones melt and the heat pool in one place and one place only. Everything the man did from then on shot straight to his cock. Long strong fingers wrapped around his clavicles, rubbing firmly, almost lifting him up with their strength, before they slid down his shoulder blades, so massive, they entirely engulfed them. He must have been a giant fucking beast with hands like these and Draco’s cock liked that idea, it liked it _a lot_.  
  
The massage was nothing like his usual ordeal of relaxing touches and calming brushes; this man seemed to rub fire into him everywhere he touched him, slow and warm, yet strong and assertive, not even a bit gentle, just an edge under hurtful. His strokes were long, purposeful, expertly unwinding the tension of constricted muscles and gradually charging him with a different kind of heat. And all the while the man’s hands were deliberately avoiding the tiny pieces of chocolate, now so melted they were sliding down Draco’s spine, making god knows what mess and leaving a most divine scent in their trail. Draco knew he would never again be able to think of massage without thinking of chocolate as well.  
  
The adept hands were slowly moving down his spine, finally closing around his hip bones and resting for a moment. Draco was a mess. He’s never been so turned on in his life and just the thought of those heavenly fingers merely inches from his throbbing cock made him bite his lip hard to stifle a whimper. But then the strong long thumbs began rubbing tiny circles, slipping just beyond the edge of the towel and casually brushing against the cleft of his arse - and he couldn’t help himself any longer: this time a moan escaped him and it was loud and embarrassingly needy.  
  
Again the soft chuckle and large hands gripping his towel-clad buns, giving them a hard squeeze and then with no warning, the man straddled him. This time Draco moaned with no reservations. He could feel the man’s hardness press against his arse and he felt him lean down, all warm skin and hard muscle, and pick up the first piece of chocolate with his mouth… large mouth with incredible succulent lips, gently sucking in the sensitive skin of his spine and slowly adding the strokes of warm slick tongue, cleaning the traces of chocolate down his back… and inducing a mind-boggling sensation of seduction and domination assaulting his alert senses. The next piece of chocolate was not devoured immediately, but the man had pressed his tongue on top of it and took it for a little ride around his back before his soft lips engulfed it and Draco found his own treacherous mouth begging:  
  
“Oh, god… please… don’t… more…”  
  
He didn’t know what he was begging for, he just knew he didn’t want this to stop, not now, not  _ever_ , he wanted  _more_  of it, of the smell, of the simmering touch, of the warm all-encompassing mouth.  _This man._ He wanted this man more than he wanted anything in his life and when the massive muscled body on top of him moved and the contours of hard shaft began rubbing ever so gently between his arse-cheeks he tried to lift his arse, offer it to him, have it plundered…  But the man would have none of that. He just pushed him down with one big palm pressed against the small of his back and  _growled_ softly, dangerously. Draco almost came from the sound alone.  
  
The third piece of chocolate was not removed at all, the man’s soft undoing tongue lapped at it slowly, lazily, clearly enjoying the unique taste and the rich texture and with a small sound of surrender Draco began rubbing his bursting cock against the padded table: he desperately needed friction and he was driven to the point when he was done being particular how he got it.  _That fucking randy beast_ … no one had ever kept him tethering so close to the edge, had teased him so mercilessly into seeking release and gave none of himself away in the process.  
  
And suddenly hungry soft mouth sought him out in the tender flesh between his neck and his shoulder, sinking the teeth in ever so gently and then a soft whisper came: “Be a good boy and keep your eyes shut.”  
  
Draco gave a muffled cry when a large hand closed on top of his lips, smearing them with chocolate, and he was given a soft order: “ _Lick_ …”  
  
And his tongue darted out obediently and he tasted the rich dark chocolate on strong fingers, teasing his mouth open and sinking in. He heard his hard hot breath right near his ear and the tense grunt of pleasure he gave shot through him like a simmering arrow, making him mewl and pant between the licks like a bitch in heat: “I can’t… oh, god, please… can’t hold much longer…  _please_ …”  
  
The fingers disappeared instantly and he whimpered at the thought that he blew it… but suddenly his arse was pulled up higher and revealed at last. One of the big hands reached around his waist and wrapped around his pulsating length, while fingers of the other hand spread him open and the hot wet tongue swept across his hole…  
  
Draco cried out, a sound as desperate as they came, his whole body torn between pushing itself into the skilled hard hand, working his throbbing cock masterfully with needy tight jerks towards the mother of all climaxes - and that wonderful soft tongue that kept drawing small wet circles around his pulsating hole, sinking in ever so often just to give him a taste of heaven and making him want to impale himself on it. He was blabbing and begging and he didn’t care. Having him there, just a breath under the edge, desperately reaching for it, the man suddenly flipped him around with brutal strength and a silken wet cave engulfed the whole of the leaking shaft …  
  
And Draco broke. With a hopeless cry the chain that kept his release at bay snapped with a vengeance and he fell apart. The head of his over-stimulated cock hit the back of the endless wet throat at the same moment his body bucked in pleasure so intense he roared like an animal and let a giant fucking tsunami of release roll over him like a slow-rolling ball made of ecstasy, a mind-bursting explosion of perfect bliss never before experienced in such pure dark form.  
  
He heard himself howl one breathless curse after another and beg for more as he dug his fingers deep into the hair, as silken as any he’d ever felt under his touch, and just kept on fucking that incredible soft mouth over and over again, riding out his orgasm like a man possessed... and not once did the sweet mouth, closing tightly around him, milking him, making him feel trapped and desperately desired, try to make an escape. Draco had never felt anything like it.  _Not ever._ Not even remotely. This was… he didn’t know what this was. But it was mind-shattering. And overwhelming.  _Absolutely addictive_.  
  
When his body finally gave its last destroyed jerk and stopped moving out of its own accord, he felt entirely boneless and unable to move. The second his softened cock slipped out of the heavenly mouth and the cold rush of air brushed against it, it felt every bit like abandonment. With eyes still shut tightly he reached out for the warmth of that all-encompassing body and he was not disappointed. The strong muscled body leaned over him, covered him from head to toe like a giant warm blanket and drowned him in the wonderful scent of body heat and male sex. Draco thought he could never get enough of smelling this aphrodisiac elixir. The smell alone felt like treasure.  
  
He wasn’t quite ready to let go just yet. His fingers slid down a muscled torso – no shirt, absolutely perfect – feeling every bit as one of a professional athlete and he reached down between their bodies to find him hard as he knew he was going to be. He rolled his fingers over the tented fabric and discovered the contours of a wonderfully thick, fully erect shaft… only to have him give a small dark moan and a hiss: “ _No_ , goddamn you, Malfoy… “  
  
His eyes very nearly shot open in surprise because he instantly realized  _this_ , indeed, was someone he should know, but the massive palm of the hand was faster, covering his eyes once more and a soft whisper reached him: “Don’t be  _greedy_ … perhaps next time…”  
  
And he scored a scorching mind numbing kiss at the crook of his neck, and another, until it was making his loins stir in yet another violent twist of desire –and then the man flipped him over onto his stomach with no effort at all and covered him with a towel. With a whispered: “I’m sorry… I’ll get someone to clean you…” he was gone and Draco just laid there dumbfounded, confused and feeling empty already.  
  
~  
  
He could hardly remember how he got home that night. He found his wife’s chattering unbearable, so he gave her a lame excuse about a headache and headed straight to his quarters. He barricaded himself into his working room and stretched over a comfortable sofa he had much use for since his calamity of a marriage. His body felt limp and almost ethereal, but his mind wouldn’t let him rest.  _Who was he?_  He knew him, he knew he did, he just  _couldn’t_  remember… but he’s felt his presence before, his magic made him tingle and it resonated somewhere deep inside his bones… but at the same time he was certain he was never privileged to the love-making of this particular man. He could count his lovers on the fingers of a single hand, always the same ones, trust-worthy, skilled, discreet, paid enough to lie for him, should the need occur. Besides, he would have remembered this one. Oh, yes, he would have  _certainly_  remembered him…  
  
So he was back the next day. No pretences, no excuses, he had none. He wanted to feel him again. He felt almost sick at the thought that their paths might never cross again and the sole memory of him, of what they did, was enough to make his body respond in need. If it was magic, it was one of the oldest, worst kinds. He  _needed_  more, he craved it again.  
  
He stepped into the lobby of the club and at the sight of him the master of the house was immediately sent for. When Oliver Wood opened the door from his private quarters, Draco caught a whisk of heated words, spoken in a female voice that, too, seemed faintly familiar: “… and tell him he’s got no business hiding here under a pretence, my mother’s been worried sick about him…”  
  
He saw Oliver mask his obvious discontent with a courteous smile and shrugged off the thought of a woman as one of those hysterical matrons that often shook their accusing finger at establishments such as this one, deeming them a snake-lair of all things sinful. Some poor sod probably came to this place to seek solace and some peace of mind and the bloody woman must have followed him in here, giving poor Oliver hell. Certainly not  _his_  problem. Not now, not ever.  
  
He pointedly ignored a raised eyebrow, the only thing testifying how surprised Oliver Wood was seeing him  _again_ after such a short time, but he was too well versed in customer relations to openly express his curiosity. Instead he shook his hand as warmly as ever and expressed his contentment at being able to welcome him in their midst once more – “so soon” went unspoken. But Draco didn’t feel he was up to niceties, not this time. He felt as if his body was in heat, the thought of  _his_  presence alone burnt through his brain, leaving little solid thought in its wake.  
  
“I need…” he started, but stopped himself in time, because this would have just been too out of character and he couldn’t have that. He was a Malfoy after all and appearance came before anything else. “I should very much like another massage if you please,” he said as calmly as he could and saw Oliver nod approvingly, gesturing to one of the attending boys. “And with the same person as last night, if it’s not too much bother,” he tried to add matter-of-factly, but he was sure a 3-year-old would be able to pick up on the tension in his voice and it did Oliver credit that he chose to ignore it.  
  
“Just a moment, let me check if he’s available,” he issued a quiet set of instructions to the boy that approached. “I take it you were…  _pleased_  with his services?”  
  
“Oh, _yes_ … well, yes… quite, more than so…” replied Draco just a shade too quickly and nearly bit on his disobedient tongue. And then a sudden horrid thought flashed through him; a thought that he was not the only one, that this man,  _his man_ , touched others, handled other clients, perhaps provided the same intimate services… and the rush of jealousy that flushed through him made him physically sick. He couldn’t have that, he couldn’t share him. He had to do something, _anything_  about this …  
  
“In fact… I was wondering, if it was possible to make some sort of arrangement… You see, I’ve been having some… fitness issues lately, nothing major, I assure you, certainly nothing to worry about, but my condition might require a more frequent use of your services and I would appreciate it if was possible to make some sort of… well, reservation I suppose, regarding the schedule of one of your staff, so he could be of permanent convenience to me… just for a limited period of time, of course and as you know, financial compensation is no issue… I’d really like the man you provided me with last night, he was… very satisfactory, _very_ satisfactory indeed,” he looked Oliver Wood deeply in the eye, abandoning all pretence that he was after anyone else. “Exclusively for me.  _No one else,_ ” he added for a good measure and saw Oliver’s pretty mouth stretch into an understanding smile.  
  
“I’d have to check with him, of course…” said Oliver politely, but Draco knew that a promise of providing an esteemed customer with an exclusive service meant Wood was willing to twist - and break - almost anyone’s arm into compliance. “But, as always, we aim to… please,” he couldn’t help but to give Draco a small knowing smile and for once Draco didn’t mind mirroring it and acknowledging the mutual understanding with a tiny arch of an eyebrow and a lift of the haughty chin. The service boy approached the brunette and whispered something in his ear and Oliver smiled pleasantly once more.  
  
“If you agree, we shall discuss the arrangement next time, after I’ve had time to present your proposal to him, but for tonight, the man of your choice is yours. I believe you will find the room prepared and him ready to join you shortly.”  
  
Draco merely nodded, suddenly in a rush to get there, to make himself ready… for his eyes alone, to have his body manipulated, dominated and  _owned_  once more. While he stripped, a tiny uncomfortable thought of possible disappointment began nibbling at the edge of his brain, just an impossible idea that perhaps he was over-reacting and no magic will happen tonight; that this was a one-time affair, a sort of heat-of-the moment thing, easily forgotten the next day… but it all melted like butter in a hot stove when he lay down once more and heard the door click.  
  
He sensed him immediately, his presence as invasive as any other man’s physical touch and he felt his fine hairs stand on end all over his body when he heard him approach. There was a moment of pause, an endless moment bursting with expectation, and then two strong fingers pressed gently at the back of his neck and stilled there like a death-trap. And that was all it took: a long stroke of those two commanding fingers, travelling slowly from his neck down to his tailbone, warm, firm and possessive… and he had him. Draco felt himself flush and shiver at the same time as his body recognised its master and when the soft mouth leaned down to his ear for a whisper “No looking, precious…” he shut his eyes closed obediently and felt the tide of yearning wash over him in a massive wave.  
  
If anything, the man was even rougher than the night before and Draco found it incredible how much he enjoyed it. A few long strokes down his back and he heard that soft chuckle again: “Not  _one_  tense muscle in this back… You’re not here for a massage, are you?”  
  
Draco felt his skin flush with embarrassment, but it quickly transformed into a different kind of heat when he felt himself be straddled and he couldn’t hold back a helpless moan. And it got no better when one large hand slowly closed around his neck, just under his chin and almost lifted him off the table, cutting his air-supply short and stretching him impossibly. For some reason his cock thought that was a wonderful idea. And then he felt the warm body lean over him and his head manipulated to the side, offering the soft large mouth access to begin kissing and licking just at the edge of exposed neck… and every tingling neuron of his hyper-sensitised skin sparked with a sudden rush of blood. Then he was suddenly allowed breathing again and when big hungry gasps of air flooded his lungs, he felt the large hands slip under his torso and close over the tiny rosy peaks, just waiting to burst to life.  
  
“ _Fuck_ …” he gasped when the calloused fingers rubbed and teased mercilessly, making his nubs as hard as pebbles while the soft wet tongue painted lazy strokes around his ear.  
  
“ _Perhaps_ … if you’re a good boy… but do tell me,  _why_?” The soft purr was unbearable.  
  
“Cause I want it,” blurted Draco, unable to resist the subtle invitation to reveal his fantasies. “You lit me up like a pyre and you left me to burn… and now I want it… I want more of it… all of it… you… inside me… tearing me apart… fucking me _hard_ … hard and long and deep… coming inside me…  I wanna hear you  _growl_ … cause it’s the sexiest fucking sound I’ve ever heard in my life… I want you to brand me with your hot hard cock… so I can’t walk for days and you’re the only thing on my mind… I’ve never had anyone so mind-fuck me as you did…”  
  
Teeth sinking in the soft spot between neck and shoulder were his only response and when he moaned once more, uttering a breathless “please” he finally felt the towel around his waist removed and the long probing fingers found their way into his crack… ohhhh…  
  
“I don’t do mind-fuck…” whispered a dark rasp voice right above his sensitive ear, wet from the lazy slow brush of tongue. “You did that to yourself… just  _fucking_ , however… raw and hard and slow… mind-fucking-blowing… I can do that… would you like that? I bet you would, you needy… randy… gorgeous slut… I bet you don’t get enough of it… I bet you’re willing to beg for it… Beg for it, beautiful…”  
  
“Please _fucking_ please, please… god, yes,  _there_ … oh, like that, please…” The sensation of skilled fingers exploring him burnt through him like Fiendfyre, leaving ashes of his pride in their wake and he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t suck those torturous tools of gorgeous pressure inside his needy hole fast enough… And there they came… deceptively gentle at first… stretching… slick with god-knows-what…  _big_ , fucking big and invasive… suddenly merciless… and brutally precise…  The man knew all too well what he was doing, reaching and touching, touching and rubbing consistently against that spot inside of him that made him cry out and see sparks under the tightly closed lids and jerk uncontrollably under the massive hot trap he made out of his body, pressing against Draco’s lithe frame.  
  
“Please, oh, please, fucking please… “ he begged for it and for a moment he heard a muffled curse, a rustle of clothes, a whisper of a charm - and then he felt it coming… big…  _too big_ … painfully big… pushing its way in unrelenting… making him give way… filling him up slowly, completely, wonderfully smooth and in complete control of his body… he felt as if every inch of flesh arranged itself around that thick gorgeous shaft, as if his body was merely an extension of the engorged hot cock commanding him from the inside, as if he was unbreakably joined with the wonderful creature behind him. And then he moved.  
  
And Draco gave a cry. And another. A broken sound, incompetent to express just how he was feeling, how discomposed, used and perfectly put back together he felt when that man fucked him. It was a symphony of perfection, his body responding hungrily to every desperate push, every raw growl mirrored by his needy cry for more, every quiet helpless curse coming from behind making him impale himself harder, faster, deeper onto that brilliant tool of completion, his own spear of destiny, sliding against Heaven inside him and stabbing him right through his very core until his every pore oozed sweat and desire and he screamed on the edge of unbearable tension.  
  
And then he heard it. He heard his name come out of his mouth, helpless and unwilling and born by desire and he exploded violently to the sound of his own name: “Draco!!!”  
  
Just before his world went black he felt him flood his insides with a stifled: “Fuckfuckfuckfuck, Malfoy, oh, fucking fuck, you fucking blond demon, Draco… no…”  
  
And when he came to his senses, he was once again alone, the feeling of missing something vital and important stronger than ever. It felt as if he will never be whole again, unless he was covered with that fantastically warm overpowering body. He heard stirring by the door and opened his eyes in blind hope – only to see a very worried looking Oliver Wood rush in pale as a sheet:  
  
“Sweet Merlin, are you all right?! Bloody hell, he took it too far this time! I’ll have to report this too someone, he can’t walk around doing this, he can’t…”  
  
“Who is he?” interrupted Draco, sounding every bit as tired and as destroyed as he felt. “Who is he, Oliver? I know him, I _know_  I do, I just can’t seem to remember…”  
  
“I can’t… tell you,” said Oliver, sounding genuinely miserable. “No, you don’t understand, I  _can’t_!” he said desperately in an almost feverish voice at the sight of Draco’s darkening face. “I took him in as a favour to a very dear friend, just a temporary arrangement, and I agreed to a Confundus on this place to cover for him… I can’t say his name even if I wanted to, I can’t even write it down, none of us can! But it will have to be lifted now, someone has to know…”  
  
“Know what, Wood?” said Draco in a voice still tired, but suddenly coming alive with fever. “Know what, exactly? What did he tell you?”  
  
“Well, that’s just the thing! He said next to nothing! He just came rushing out, as if he had seen Voldemort return, pushed right by me and threw over his shoulder: “Send someone in. He needs help. I can’t be around him right now. Not anymore. Not ever.” And off he went, shirtless, out into this arctic weather! He was quite besides himself and no small wonder! Look what he’s done to you! You look…”  
  
“I look like  _what_ , Wood?!” Draco felt his usual edge slowly return to his voice. “Destroyed? Broken down? Ravaged? Shagged out? Fucked out of my wits? Because  _I am_  all those things, Oliver! He has fucked me unconscious, literally! _Fucked. Me. Dead,_  very nearly. After I begged him to! And I’d beg him again. I’d never had anyone fuck me so hard I blacked out screaming for more. Have you? I didn’t think so. He’s…  _it_  for me, I suppose. So you see, I  _need_  to know his name, I need to find out who he is - not to report him, cause he hasn’t bloody done anything I didn’t literally beg him to do - but to  _feel_  him again, Oliver, to have him own me, perhaps to see him for the first time…”  
  
“But you wouldn’t like him!” blurted the brunette, looking every bit unhappy and edgy. At the sharp look from the grey eyes he pulled himself up and spoke adamantly: “I know you wouldn’t… You never did. I suppose one could say you…  _despise_ him.”  
  
“Oh, knock it off, Wood, I despise nearly everyone!” said Draco with a shrug and winced – even that hurt. “I was born to do so, brought up every step of the way to look down on people. I  _tolerate_  most people at best. Even you…”  
  
“Not like him,” said Oliver firmly and looked him straight in the eye. “You don’t despise me nearly as much as him. You might even hate him, for all I know.”  
  
“ _Hate_ …” the word died on his lips. True, he despised most people, but hate… he had many enemies, of course, all the losses of war saw to that, but he was mostly on the receiving end of hatred these days, while he very rarely dished it out himself anymore…  
  
“Trust me, this is a very bad idea…  _going after him_  is a very bad idea,” Oliver made himself clear. “We need to clean you up - for Merlin’s sake, is that blood?! That brute! – and you need to have a good rest and forget about him. You’ve got a reputation to uphold, remember that, and don’t you worry about us in that aspect, Wood’s is nothing if not discreet, whatever happens within those walls stays within those walls. And should you choose to… venture out again - ” he added more gently at the sight of sudden misery creeping over the pretty features of the blond, “– I can hardly imagine you having any problems finding someone decent, not with your good looks and the life-style you can afford… there should be a place for a discreet honourable young man in your life to give you what you want, I’m sure of it…”  
  
Oliver Wood might as well have thrown a soaked blanket of depression over him and the harsh reality of his life came flooding over him with a vengeance. It felt as if the candles have dimmed and the light fled the room instantly and in desperate attempt to capture some of the rapidly disappearing bliss he asked hungrily:  
  
“Oliver… is he handsome?”  
  
And Oliver smiled, just a shade under his usual brilliant grin as the hint of sadness never left his eyes:  
  
“Bloody gorgeous.”

~

Once more Draco woke up to a dream of a powerful presence, panting, flushed and covered in come, with his hand still wrapped around his shaft.  _This_ … it had to stop. It’s been two days now. Two days of desperate effort not to apparate back to The Wood’s and ask to meet him again. Two days of avoiding nearly everyone, his only solace in restless sleep, constantly driving him through the same desperate dream of feeling that wonderful warm presence wrapped around him again – only to wake up wanting, yearning and more alone than ever. He sank deeper and deeper into depression that had no name, had no cause… except for the fact that he very much felt as if he had lost something… something priceless and special and irreplaceable. Last night he got an owl from Oliver, asking if he was alright and it took everything he had not to send it back with a hasty: “Has he come back?”  
  
Instead he had sent a thank you note and a polite reply with a subtle “I trust you are doing well, all of you..”, which might have seemed inconspicuous to anyone but Oliver, but clearly, to him, it screamed for information, because the owl had returned within less than an hour. Draco’s fingers shook so badly he could barely remove the note from the jittery animal:  
  
“We’re all fine, thank you very much for your kindness,” the note said. “All of us, except for one. He has not come back and we do not expect him to. I believe for now it is best for the charm we discussed to stay in place, it might help you forget. Sincerely, Oliver Wood”.  
  
Well, Wood was a  _fool_! A well-meaning fool, to be sure, but a fool nonetheless! How  _could_  he forget!?  _How_?! It would be like trying to forget how to breathe! It was the first time since the war that he actually felt alive and breathing and bursting with magic and yearning and desire… He could never forget. He had to find out who he was. But how? He could expect no help from Oliver - that much was clear.  
  
He had to find way to get around him, then. This was no life, this was just breathing on empty. He couldn’t handle this depression any longer, he couldn’t bare it and sooner or later, someone would notice and then there would be trouble. He was a Malfoy after all - he could hardly barricade himself somewhere private for any length of time and hope to be left alone! He had social obligations, concerned loving parents, a fussing wife... He needed to pick himself up, one way or another. He was a Slytherin to the bone, he would think of something, he felt he was out of other options.  
  
He had countless resources at his disposal, endless means of going around the rules set by the thick Gryffindor oxen such as Wood! He just needed to make the first step out of this blasted bed and set things in motion. Too long he’s been neglecting his duties, neglecting himself – sweet  _Mother of God_ , was he every bit of a mess or what?!  
  
First he would start with a decadently luxurious bath – and try very hard not to think about the moments when he last saw one placed in a corner of a different room – and then he would have a bite and perhaps even pay some attention to his wife, as much as it was a bother.  _If_  he’s up to it. Not cast in stone, that one, not in his current condition. But he didn’t want Astoria to become restless, worrisome and suspicious, so every once in a while he made the effort to take his breakfast in her company. And perhaps this morning her constant chatter would exhaust him enough to make him fall into dreamless sleep, free of shadows of overwhelming young men calling out his name….  
  
He should stop doing this to himself and stop it  _now_. Just a memory of his dreams, still so very vivid it felt almost tangible, got his cock stirring and he couldn’t have that if he was to realize his feeble plan for the day. Depression breathed at him like a dragon from every corner of his abandoned room, so with much effort, he got up.  God, was he still ever so aching even after two days of soothing potions and healing charms! But it needed to be done, he couldn’t wallow in his misery any longer, it was killing him.  
  
So he followed his usual morning routine and was surprised to find out he felt better for it. Breakfast with Astoria it was, then. She was already in the breakfast parlour, clearly not expecting him, but looking genuinely pleased to see him. He felt a pang of pity at the thought how very lonely she must have felt strolling about the Manor, every bit a stranger to the place as the first time she was brought here. But he had no heart when it came to her misery. He couldn’t make himself be bothered. She knew who she married and why and he was sure she was getting her proper compensation somewhere along this mockery of a marriage.  
  
He gave her a perfunctory peck on the cheek and sat down to his morning coffee. Astoria always drank tea in the morning and much like the rest of her habits, he found it annoying. Tea was for afternoon, for god’s sake, it was even called “The Afternoon Tea”! He fumbled with food with no real interest and when he saw her throw him a worried glance, he quickly set out to re-direct her attention:  
  
“Anything new going on in the world, darling? Do share, I’m too exhausted to bother with the newspaper.”  
  
“You have been out for quite a while,” she said pointedly, but probably decided it was not worth pursuing, since he granted her with his presence – a rare enough occasion - so she gave a perfectly polished smile instead and humoured him. “I suppose you did miss out on quite a lot. Let’s see – what could I possibly fill you in on? Oh, I know – you’re going to like this one!”  
  
Draco leaned back in his chair, ready to disconnect his brain and give a mindless “oh!”, “you don’t say!” “honestly, what were they thinking!” which was to assure her of his undivided attention. Except something she had said suddenly caught his attention and brought all his senses roaring to life.  
  
“… he went to work at the Wood’s, imagine that! She was livid! Apparently all he bothered with was some lame excuse about getting back the strength in his arms after that dreadful Quidditch injury he’d suffered, but that was weeks ago, so surely that’s merely an excuse to get away from what will probably turn out to be a very nasty divorce! Hear  _this_  – apparently the man came out to his family as – what do Muggles call it again? – gay? – no, that’s not it - bi-sexual? Is it? – oh, you know, he likes women  _and_  men, imagine that! I’ve never even heard of such a thing, how could two men possibly… oh, never mind, what matters is, that I personally overhead Ginny Potter tell his soon-to-be-ex-wife, that god-awful Mudblood character, that he hasn’t been home since this whole affair broke out and his mother has been worried sick and now they claim at the Wood’s they haven’t seen him there in days either! From what I gathered, she’s at odds with her own husband for it, because Potter seems to know where he is yet he refuses to say and…”  
  
“Astoria!” he broke through her words with a voice so sharp it startled her. “ _Who_  are you talking about? Are you talking about…” his voice died on his lips as suddenly all the dots connected in his head and his wife merely confirmed his suspicions:  
  
“Well, Ron Weasley, of course, haven’t you heard the word I said?! You know him, that awkward, violently ginger boy from Hogwarts – wasn’t he in your year? Well, the very one from the “Holy Trinity” – surely you’ve heard of Potter, Granger  _and_ Weasley? He’s the least significant of them all, I suppose, except he turned out to be some sort of Quidditch superstar after the war – surely you  _must_  know him, you live for this dreadful sport! Why, darling, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so flabbergasted! Even you can’t be so oblivious - after all it was me who was shipped off to France during the war, you were here, you must have heard of him! Didn’t your father make you learn all the names of the pureblood families in England? There’s not that many of us left, you know. Well, Weasley  _is_  a pureblood – though he went on and married that Mudblood Granger – what a waste of good magical heritage!”  
  
She chattered on and on and Draco just stared at her blindly, not seeing her, but the images piling up in his head in such quick succession it was almost like watching a Muggle movie. Red-headed red-faced boy staring at him in disdain with world’s most brilliant blue eyes; always in tattered clothes yet still mocking his name, always a bit more awkward than the rest, second only to Longbottom; an odd one out in the family of super-achievers, nothing special, not at all significant – except somehow he stole Potter’s friendship from him in front of his very nose and the brightest witch in England was head over heals with him before he even noticed, the oblivious log that he was.  
  
And they had it in for each other, Weasley and himself, practically from the first moment they met, always finding excuses and opportunities to engage in this brawl or another throughout their entire stay at Hogwarts. He was the only one Draco ever felt a physical desire to punch, to throw on the ground and just  _walk_  all over him… Except when they ended up rolling on the floor he couldn’t get enough of him. He could physically feel his magic pulsate against him through the worn out clothes and he didn’t know what to do with the feeling, because it was making him hard and making him hate himself and making him squeeze around Weasley’s body tighter to feed on the incredible sensation – right until the next punch that made him hate the pureblooded pauper so much more.  
  
And he  _resented_  him, being the part of those who saved him after the war – he resented it more than he resented Potter and Granger combined. So when the stubborn git decided to ignore Potter’s pleading to join him in the ranks of Aurors – he was always doing whatever the hell he got into his thick ginger skull these days, wasn’t he? – and joined the Chudley Cannons as their Keeper instead, Draco went out of his way to buy the Falmouth Falcons as a sole owner, just to show the redheaded menace hell. Except, once again - he couldn’t.  
  
It seemed like Weasley was the boost that the Cannons needed to pick themselves up after years of dwelling at the bottom of Quidditch championships. He seemed to have literally locked the hoops for the Quaffle, hardly letting anything through, while Potter helped train their new Seeker in his free time – and the underdogs started stringing one win on top of another until no one could chalk it up to luck anymore. Much to Draco’s fury, they were well on their way of entering the fight for the title of the League Champions this year, closely tied to his Falcons and their success already cost him a small fortune in bets, special focused trainings for the team that seemed to have little effect, and retired Quidditch superstars hired as consultants.  
  
The popularity of the Cannons rose exponentially, with many thanks to the number of their famous supporters - Potter being the loudest and most avid fan, of course – and it didn’t hurt the team one bit when Luna Lovegood somehow made Ron Weasley to agree to a 10-page full-colour spree in the Quibbler, 500-copy-only limited edition that reached ridiculous prices among the giggling blushing young witches, because it showed so much skin you could literally count every freckle. Draco owned a copy, of course, and when he really needed to vent out, he would pull it out of the drawer and threw hexes at the perfect muscled torso adorning the centrefold until his hand hurt and he was so hard he pulled out his cock and came all over it. In spite of Impervius charm on it, this was surely the most abused copy in existence.  
  
Oliver was right, he  _hated_  Ron Weasley. Hated him for what he’d become, hated him for coming up on top with nothing but a heart-stopping smile and a set of brilliant blue eyes to his name, hated him for always fucking  _doing_  just whatever he felt like, hated him for making him feel like a resentful little boy again who could never quite have what he truly wanted. And now he had another reason to hate him. Except – once more – he couldn’t. Now that he could put a face to that overwhelming presence that filled him up from inside and made him feel whole, he realized it was never only about hatred between him and Weasley. Their bodies recognised the unknown magic the second they touched and under the luxury of anonymity, the humming beast that was stirring underneath their mutual animosity burst to life with brutal force.  
  
His body, his mind, his every sense  _craved_  Weasley. He laughed himself into tears when his luck finally turned and Weasley got himself dreadfully injured by two Bludgers – one well aimed, the other deflected – at once. And he had sent flowers to St. Mungo’s and petitioned the committee to postpone the finals until Weasley got better, because – what fun was it if he wasn’t going to get humiliated? He received a note from Potter after that, thanking him for his “fair play” and informed him that Ron laughed himself sore at the sight of flowers, commenting: “He just can’t wait for my funeral, can he?”  
  
He kept a note on him at all times, he didn’t know why, he just knew it made him smile every time he looked at it. After that he hired a nurse to spy for him and keep an eye on Weasley’s recovery. Both of his arms were crushed and growing bones back was a slow and painful process that left the strength of the muscles in his arms badly diminished. It would take a while for Ron Weasley to recover, the experts had said – but much like always, the stubborn redhead took matters into his own hands and disappeared on everyone. Everyone but Potter, it seemed.  
  
“Isn’t it just  _gorgeous_  how the great fall,” a gleeful voice of his young wife swam back into his consciousness. “Perhaps that Mudblood Granger won’t act so conceited, going around saving everyone and everything as if they deserve it, the house-elves, the goblins, the Centaurs and god-knows-what other trolls! She was married to a  _freak_  this whole time and she’s bound to be the laughing stock everywhere she goes! And the Holy  _Potter_!” - there was so much disdain in her voice he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else underneath all that sour attitude – rejected affection, perhaps? - “ I wonder if he’ll be cheering as loudly for his best mate at the next match the Cannons are due for! Surely everyone will have found out by then and people  _would_   _talk_! Oh, dear, I can’t wait to tell Daphne and Pansy, they will be ecstatic!”  
  
“You. _Will_  Not. Say. A  _word_.”  
  
 His words, though quiet were so adamant and full of viciousness she froze solid in her delight and stared at him utterly confused.  
  
“But I thought your family hated the Weasleys! Surely you can’t...”  
  
“If I hear  _one_  word of this - and I do mean  _one blasted word_ , a whisper - I will know that it was you and for all I care, you can pack your bags and move back to your mother!”  
  
She stared at him with open mouth, but the dark threat in those grey eyes was so solid and real, she abandoned all thought of objecting.  
  
“Of course. If you wish. I merely thought it would cheer you up, since the Malfoys are not too keen on the Weasleys,” she said quietly, confusion and a dash of fear still etched into her doe-eyes.  
  
“Ron Weasley...” Draco bit his lip, the word “ _freak_ ” still resonating in his head, making him tremble with intense desire to punch her pretty little face and leave an imprint of his distress on it. “He’s... He helped save my life during the war. I never told you that because there’s no point in troubling your pretty little head with the horrid events that you were lucky enough to avoid, but the Holy Trinity, as you like to call them, saved my life twice in one day, the day the battle of Hogwarts took place. Don’t you  _ever_  call him a freak again; if anything, he’s madly brave to come out like this, a proper fool of a Gryffindor and I  _will not_  have his name soiled. Not in this house,  _nowhere_. Are we clear on that?!”  
  
When he saw her give a speechless nod, his eyes softened a little and he patted her hand in a perfect imitation of affection.  
  
“Good girl. Remember, if you spread rumours like that it throws a bad light on all of us, purebloods. The new breed already has us marked for decadent,” he spoke in a softer voice when he saw big teardrops gather in the corner of her eyes and finally confusion gave room to understanding and she nodded eagerly in agreement.  
  
“You must excuse me now, darling. I’m still so very tired, I must be coming down with something. I will have a lay down for a moment and I shall see you at supper, I trust I shall recover by then.”  
  
He didn’t wait for her concerned “Of course! Do take the Pepper Up potion! Are you sure…”, but stormed out and, once outside the parlour door, simply apparated to his working room – he couldn’t handle another moment in the company of her blunt wits. He collapsed on the sofa and covered his face with his hands, his mind just a giant nest of swirling thoughts.  
  
What in the dead Voldemort’s name was he supposed to do?! How could this have happened to him?! Weasley… _Weasley_ , of all people!!! He will  _murder_  Oliver next time his sets eyes on him! Weasley was… he was the only one… he _hated_  him, dear  _God_  how he hated him… and he couldn’t do without him anymore, not now when he imagined those decadent soft red lips licking chocolate of his glistening skin… the brilliant blue eyes focused on his face while he got to fuck that incredible obliging mouth, watching him come… that hot pulsating cock he’s never seen but still felt the massive contours of, fucking him into oblivion, spilling inside him, drawing out a broken shout of his name, his  _given_  name, in hopeless surrender…  
  
He needed to see him, he needed to talk to him, he needed to know why… and he needed to do it soon,  _now_ , fucking now was too late! That mindless toy he had for a wife said Potter knew… he knew and he wouldn’t even tell his own wife, so he needed to target Potter and he would lead him straight to his best mate. Possibly.  _Hopefully_. Sweet Merlin let it be so, he was going mad in here with all the questions knocking into each other in his overloaded mind, all the conflicting feelings tearing him to pieces... With feverish determination he scribbled a few lines on the piece of parchment and whistled to his favourite owl, Cassiopeia.  
  
“Fly, girl, fly,” he whispered, “and be back soon. I need you to; can you do that for me?” The majestic grey owl looked at him with smart yellow eyes, hooted softly and pressed against his face with a dangerous looking beak as if in a promise. Then without further ado she flew away soundlessly and there wasn’t much else to for him to do but wait. When a couple of hours later he finally heard a tap on the window, he had already worked himself into a wreck. Malfoys were not made for waiting, when there was something they wanted, they needed to have it  _here_  and  _now_  and if it was in his power, that blasted owl would have delivered him Weasley in person! As it was…  
  
He fed his beloved pet the biggest snack he could find – she was a Malfoy-bred animal, nothing else would do – and removed the small note she gracefully presented. He could barely open it and when his fumbling fingers almost tore it apart he let out a stream of expletives that would make that Irish Finnigan wanker blush. His vision blurred from the rush of blood in his head and for a while he couldn’t make heads or tails from what he was reading, but eventually the letters arranged themselves into something recognisable and he rushed through the note as if his very life was at stake.  
  
 _“I hope you know you owe me your firstborn child, you insufferable brat! Having me chase Potter around the corridors so I could put a tracking charm on him like that – I can’t imagine my reputation ever recovering! But it has been done and wherever he goes, you will know – though I must say he hasn’t been going out much in the last couple of days, he’s mostly been locked up in his office for unusually long stretches of time - rather odd, now that I think of it. Either way - I expect full report once all this is done, whatever it is you’re plotting – I know it’s going to be good, it better be, I almost broke a heel of my new stilettos over your childish scheming!!! At least you can do, is to buy me new shoes – oh, I know, next time I go shopping with your wife I’ll just buy a couple of pairs and put it on your tab, I’m sure that’s alright with you! Cordially yours, P.”_  
  
Good ol’ Panse, he knew he could count on her – and it didn’t harm one bit that she elbowed her way into being Potter’s personal assistant in less than two years, with all the other candidates for the position mysteriously ending up at St. Mungo’s -  _or worse_. Not that she loved the man that much, god forbid, but she claimed to have best access to all the top rumours from this position and Draco secretly suspected that she loved putting her witty brain into being useful, it made her feel important and – last but not least – it gave her a chance to stay as far away as possible from her much older husband – another miserable marriage made to draw the lines of the remaining purebloods together.  
  
He stared at the note for a couple of long moments, calculating the chances, that Potter was dumb enough to keep Weasley in the office all this time… It was possible, he decided. Potter had no other highly warded place his wife and Granger had no access to, this was pretty much it and everyone knew that because of the nature of his job, Potter had practically made the living quarters out of his office, it had an en suite bathroom and, Pansy told him, a sofa so cosy it was to die for! It was worth giving it a shot – he was out of other options. He checked his appearance in the mirror one last time – pale as a ghost with black shades of sleepless nights giving him a tragic demeanour – and he decided it didn’t matter if for once he didn’t look dashing. He wasn’t out to get shagged, he wanted answers and if by some crazy strike of luck Weasley actually was in Potter’s office, he was going to get them.  
  
~  
  
“What are you doing here?! Have you gone utterly _mad_?!” The moment she saw him, Pansy grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him into an abandoned kitchenette.  
  
“I need to see him... I need to see Potter, I need to ask him...” Draco started, but Pansy was hardly his compliant wife – the woman could make a troll run for his life with  _that_  look.  
  
“Oh, for Morgana’s sake, have you even looked at yourself?! You look like you had a brawl with a hippogriff!” She gave him another sharp look and her voice softened a little: “You really  _are_  a wreck, aren’t you?”  He knew she had a soft spot for him ever since they were children and right now she sounded as if she was genuinely worried. “What happened? What is this bizarre business with Potter? Spill it, Malfoy, I better not find out I’ve put my career in risk for one of your childish stupidities!”  
  
“I will, I promise I will, Panse, but you need to trust me now, I really  _really_  need to see him – or at least see who he’s with in there. He is in there with someone, isn’t he?”  
  
After a moment’s hesitation, Pansy bit her lip and gave a curt nod: “After I got your notice, I paid more attention to it and he seems to be ordering unusually high quantities of food for one person – hell, for two persons even! Whoever he’s got in there, has to be a giant beast of a man and have hollow legs at that – oh, bloody hell, it’s Weasley, isn’t it?!”  
  
There really wasn’t much that escaped her sharp wits, was there? So Draco gave a tired nod, he had no energy left to deny: “I think so. I need to speak with him. Don’t ask.  _Please_ ,” he added for a good measure and he knew this was such a rare occasion it was going to do the trick. “Can you get me in?”  
  
“I honestly have no idea,” said Pansy, suddenly thoughtful. “I could probably get Potter out with this pretence or another – I could say, for example, that his wife called, he’s anxious to patch up things with her... She stormed in the other day, barking something about her brother disappearing from the hospital and when he wouldn’t let her in, she stormed out just as fast, screaming another thing about getting his priorities straight and putting his best mate in front of his wife. You know – just Ginny Weasley Potter at her best, never the one to pass up on throwing a fit, that one! Either way – even if I _do_  manage to get him out, I still don’t know if I can get you in. The room is pretty heavily warded, more so than usual.  
  
I tell you what... this is what we’ll do. I’ll get him out and then it’s on you to get your arse in as soon as the door opens – that’s your best chance to have the wards interrupted and perhaps you won’t get killed right away, though it still might land you in St. Mungo’s for a couple of weeks… really, I have no way of knowing, cause I never attempted something as foolish as that! But this  _is_  an emergency, isn’t it?” She looked at him pointedly with her astute eyes and he nodded to assure her:  
  
“Emergency indeed. I’m dying here, Panse. Well, not literally, no, but there’s something I need to know and Weasley...”  
  
His voice died on his lips, because at this very moment the door had opened and the deep voice of the one person that got his knees trembling floated through: “... don’t understand, Harry, I haven’t had much luxury in my life to act on those feelings and if bottling them up is what it takes to keep this family together, then that’s what it will be. I’ve got experience, years and years of it, of not acting on my feelings, might as well keep on doing it. I slipped once. Well,  _twice_. Oh, bloody hell, I can’t change who I am, but I won’t have you all suffer for it. This... it was a one-time thing, he’d have it no other way if he knew.”  
  
At this point a furious looking Potter stormed through the door, quietly cursing and shaking his head in despair: “That bloody stubborn ox of a person! I swear I never met a more bull-headed...” He stopped dead in his track when he saw Draco standing there and opened his mouth a couple of times like a fish out of water, the necessary words clearly escaping him. He finally settled on gesturing to the door and barking:  
  
“ _You_! Whatever you’re doing here, get in there this minute and make him come to his senses! He’s... he’s  _impossible_! He wants to leave and he keeps on saying we, his family, don’t deserve to have a freak in our midst, the utter fool that he is! I tried to tell him to at least talk to you, but I might as well have been barking at the moon for all he’s willing to listen!”  
  
Draco didn’t need to have it said twice. He slipped by him like a desert snake and only stopped to look the exhausted looking Potter in the eye:  
  
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I appreciate it.”  
  
“Don’t mention it,” said Potter in a voice that sounded as if he was in a dire need of a bed. “Just make him come to his senses, please. He couldn't have done something so bad, has he?” He looked him straight in the eye and for once the grey and the green eyes met with no animosity.  
  
“No. He hasn’t done anything bad. Nothing I haven’t literally begged him to do,” Draco admitted with a small smile creeping onto his lips and had Potter wave his hands in front of his face.  
  
“Too much information. Right now, excuse me, I need to go back home and check if I still have a wife.”  
  
And just like this the door behind Draco clicked and he found himself staring into the stormy eyes of Ron Weasley.  
  
~  
  
As soon as Ron saw him enter Draco noticed the brilliant blue eyes go as wide as horizon, but then the stubborn redhead pulled himself up to his impressive height and crossed his massive scar-covered arms on his chest, looking every bit defiant.  
  
“What are you doing here? He called you, didn’t he? I’ll fucking break his nose for meddling, the bloody four-eyed git! What do you want, then? You want an apology?  _I’m sorry._  There you go. Your apology. Now get the fuck out of here!”  
  
His deep voice resonated through the room and through Draco until he thought there wouldn’t be enough of him left to keep himself standing straight. He couldn’t move if he wanted to.  
  
“Why did you do it?” he asked quietly, almost breathless. “Why did you go and fuck me up so badly? Fuck up both our lives?”  
  
“Because I could!” the redhead erupted, but there was no menace in his eyes, just hurt. “Because Oliver had thrown you at me without a warning, and suddenly you were there, looking all… gorgeous and untouchable and fucking glowing in the candle-light and it took my breath away... Lying at St. Mungo’s gave me time galore to think about what I really wanted and those fucking flowers you sent... it felt as if there was a charm on them and I couldn’t help but smiling every time I looked at them... I wanted them to mean something and by that time I’ve already figured it out that as much as I love Hermione, it was not her face I kept on seeing in my dreams.  
  
I hardly ever saw you after school, but somehow my stupid mind remembered every feature of your face as if it was cast in stone and I kept waking up hard with a memory of it still etched in my dreams... Every game we played with the Falcons was a gift, because I knew you’d be there and I’d get you see you again and perhaps if I played really well, I’d piss you off into  _glowering_  at me and me alone. I’d be the only one for you as long as the match went on and it was all I had until the next game. I made that stupid Quibbler shot for you, I wanted you to notice me, just me, of all the players. Fuck me if I know what I wanted with it or why, but when Pansy mentioned to Harry you’ve got a copy, I was over the moon…  
  
And suddenly you were there, in that blasted room, so private it was like a Universe outside of this world, as vulnerable as I was ever going to get you, relaxed, beautiful... god,  _so_  beautiful... I couldn’t keep my eyes off you, off that marble white body, all mine to have, that soft silver hair smelling every bit like heaven... And  then there was chocolate and even you know how much I  _love_  chocolate and I’ve heard of that one but there was never a good opportunity to get a package and now it was there, much like you, all mine to indulge in. It was as if I suddenly got an early Christmas present, just for me, exactly what I wanted. And I couldn’t stop myself, it felt every bit as if I was possessed....  
  
And I know you could have stopped me, you know it as well – but you didn’t. I saw every secret desire I ever held mirrored in you, in how you moved against my hands, how you responded to my every touch and then you started moaning... there was really no way back from that point on, not really, not for me... I wanted you, I wanted you more than I wanted anyone in my life, I wanted to own you, if only just for the night...  
  
But then I got scared - I’ve never been with a man, not all the way at least, just the teenage fumbling... you know, a quick mutual wank under the showers in the bliss of the Quidditch victory, a quick blow-job out of curiosity, just enough to get a taste of it and to learn what felt good, to release some tension perhaps... Yes, with him, don’t give me that look, it meant nothing. I know he’s married to my sister now, but whoever thought sticking hormone-pumped teenagers in one bedroom was a good idea ought to have his head examined!  
  
Anyway – I knew how to make you feel good, but I didn’t mean to hurt you; at least not that first night, I didn’t. And that’s a God’s honest truth. I let you go, didn’t I? I let you go without allowing you to touch me, because I knew that once I had those fucking incredible aristocratic fingers wrapped around my shaft there was  _no way back_ , there was no saying what I might do. I couldn’t trust myself with you around. I never could.  
  
But then you were back and... can you look me in the eye and tell me you weren’t back for me that night? You can’t, I know you can’t. I saw it etched in your face when I touched you, when I let my fingers mark you. You yielded to me and it was all I needed to feel to let go. I knew I wasn’t going to leave that room that night without fucking you insane, because I couldn’t deny myself what I’ve wanted so badly for so long... Too fucking long, you have no idea... Even at school when you pounced upon me, I could always feel your magic tingling at my skin and it made me want you desperately... so I’d punch again you to get some distance between us or you would have me come in my robes, wrapped around you like that. Perhaps my father is wrong and there  _is_  some bond only purebloods have – why else would I feel your magic so strongly?  
  
And then you were there that night, you came for me, lying there as gorgeous as pure sin, saying all those things... about wanting me, wanting me inside you, owning you, branding you... everything I always fantasised about, my most private dreams were pouring out of your filthy beautiful decadent mouth - how could I resist? I had to have you, you were the only one… And God, it was beautiful and to me it was perfect; you were moving around me, with me, closing around me tightly, begging me…  _God,_  I don’t think I could ever have dreamt it, it was better than anything my imagination could have come up with… right up until the moment you made me come so hard I thought I had died in there, erupting like a part of me broke away from me and I flooded you with everything I got until there was none of it left inside me and I couldn’t hold back your name, the only thing on my mind…  
  
And it had made it real and it made me realize what a mistake this was, how very wrong, how impossible… And then you went all limp underneath me and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything scarier in my life. I think I must have panicked, the only thing on my mind was that I had to get out of there and I barely managed to tell Oliver to take care of you. I apparated straight into Harry’s office, I didn’t know where else to go and he was the one that fixed everything with Oliver. The man was livid at me, as you might imagine. I’ve been in here ever since and that’s the whole story,” he shrugged, his eyes still defiant and his posture stiff.  
  
He stood there against the light pouring out of the window, making the silken strands of hair, escaped from a loose pony-tail, look like a river of fire, framing his freckled pretty face, pale against the vivid and brilliantly blue eyes and he was the most beautiful thing Draco has ever seen in his life. His insides ached at the very sight of him and desire crept upon him so unexpectedly he had to lean against the door to keep his balance. Everything inside him stirred violently to reach out to this man and initiate a touch and he knew there would be no going back from there. So he forced his voice to ask instead, and it came out rasp, almost raw, something hardly to be expected from the mouth of such elegant youth:  
  
“So… do you regret it?”  
  
Ron Weasley stared at him for a moment longer, his blue eyes engulfing his image as if he desperately wanted to remember the moment and Draco stared at those brilliant orbs dazed, numb, barely able to breathe. Then the redhead turned away from him abruptly and stared out the enchanted window instead.  
  
“I know what we are, you needn’t worry about me,” he spoke almost roughly. “We live in two different universes, we’re worlds apart… we always will be. You’re a Malfoy, you’ve got the whole world by the balls and I… I’m just another Weasley. I might be a Quidditch star right now, but give me five, perhaps ten more years and I’ll be no good on the field. The injuries will be too bad and too many at that. I’ll be useless and it’ll be back to anonymity for me. If I’m lucky. I asked for a divorce from my wife. I can’t lie to her, to myself and she deserves someone better, not a… whatever I am.  
  
 They don’t understand, Harry and Hermione. They come from the Muggle world, back there people like me are… well, perhaps accepted is too strong a word, but mostly tolerated. No one cares, really. Here, in our world… you know how important it is to breed. There’s not enough of us and correct me, if I’m wrong, but I can’t see any other reason why you married that empty-headed porcelain doll other than to make perfect pureblood babies, just like your parents always wanted you to.  
  
And Harry wants me to be happy. The poor fool, god bless his soul, he’s so naïve and ignorant. There  _are_  no divorced childless men-loving wizards around, they don’t exist in our community. They’re castaways, living somewhere on the edge of society between disdain and total ignorance. When this thing comes out, and I have no doubt that eventually some gleeful character will dig it out and plaster it all over the newspapers, my career will be over before you can say “bugger”. And you can’t be associated with that, I know how the Malfoys work. You needn’t worry about me. I have no intention of dragging you down with me. I’ve spent my entire fucking life trying to mask my feelings from the world, and as much as I was unable to do it from myself, I can play this game. As far as I go, we never met at the Wood’s, nothing ever happened.”  
  
As rough and flat as his voice was, he didn’t realize Draco could see his reflection in the window-pane and the expression in his lovely eyes was one of utter despair and absolute hurt. This man was willing to let a fucking train ride over him just to make sure no one else got hurt and the sight had stripped Draco’s heart naked of all its defences.  
  
“I believe that was not what I asked you,” he said quietly. “You’re avoiding my question, so I’ll ask you again: Do you regret it?”  
  
He saw his eyes go dark and wild a moment before they closed and Ron turned towards him abruptly.  
  
“I regret nothing!” he said with a dark rich voice that made Draco’s hair stand up on ends and his blue eyes suddenly bore like merciless screws into Draco’s grey orbs. “You want to know what I think of this… think of us… of what this could be? You want to know the truth?!  _This_ … is what I think of it!”  
  
In two long strides he was upon him, knocked him hard against the door and before he knew it Ron Weasley was kissing the life out of him; kissing him like there was no world in which they would be outcasts, pouring all his light and passion into that kiss that was making Draco’s bones melt and ignore his need for oxygen. He has never been kissed like this in his entire life and nothing, nothing compared. Not even the mind-blowing sex they had.  _This…_  was different. This was confession of love, passionate and desperate, rooted so deeply the very thought of letting it go, hurt his very core and he couldn’t… he couldn’t get enough.  
  
“More…” he finally gasped when he started to see stars in front of his eyes from the lack of air and the breathtaking mouth suddenly let go. “More, goddamit,  _more_ … don’t you dare let go, don’t… you… ever… dare… let go… “  
  
He dug his fingers in the silken red mane and pulled him closer and Ron indulged him, indulged them both, drawn back violently into a lethal whirlpool of desperate need and hungry desire to feel complete again. Draco could physically feel their magic align and wrap around each other and he was sure that if he opened his eyes, he would see sparks flying around them. This was the most intense intimate sensual sensation in his universe and Draco didn’t ever want to let go. He  _felt_  Weasley… he felt him somewhere deep inside his bones and he was sure if the redhead let go, he would shatter into pieces. And he craved more…  
  
So it was as if someone had pulled his heart out still beating when Ron moved away abruptly, panting, wild-eyed and bewildered.  
  
“What the fuck is this thing, Malfoy? What is it?! My fucking chest hurts just at the thought of letting you go, goddamn you! It hurts even staying away from you like this, what the fuck am I supposed to do?! You know we can’t have this, you know it! You can’t possibly want it, you’ve got so much to lose…”  
  
“Then don’t stay away from me,” said Draco almost greedily, reaching out for him because he needed him, because the world was a cold dark place without him, because he couldn’t bare it, not having him close. “Come here, you know you want you… I  _need_  you to, don’t leave me like this…”  
  
“I can’t… we can’t,” said Ron miserably, his blue eyes suddenly on the floor as if he was desperately trying to avoid looking at the blond and chance getting caught in whatever this cursed web was, that closed around them and drew them together with irresistible pull.  
  
“Then ask me,” Draco said brutally. “Ask me, goddammit, at least ask me, if I want this… Look me in the eye, Weasley, and ask me!” he yelled at him, angry, and hurt and scared of losing him. “Ask me, Ron, goddammit, ask me what I want, you fucking Gryffindor, where is your bloody heart now!?”  
  
“Alright, then!!!” Ron howled, the voice so deep and angry and dangerous it would make Draco go for his wand in any other moment but this. Now he was just too scared, too tired, too pissed off to be intimidated.  
  
“I’ll ask you, I’ll fucking  _ask_  you, just like you want me to, you spoilt rich brat, you have no idea…” The redhead was livid, his eyes electric blue with fire, every word like spear, murderously accurate and aimed to hurt, spiteful, bitter and raw with pain:  
  
“Will you, Draco Malfoy,  _the last of your name_ , risk losing everything you’ve got -, chance pissing off your father to the point of disowning you - , hurt and humiliate your mother who thinks the sky is not good enough for you - , divorce your beautiful perfect wife and abandon any hope to ever father a child - , leave all your friends behind and come as you are, choosing a life you know nothing about, with no safety net of your name, wealth or connections –  _for me_? For someone you loved to hate for the biggest part of your life! Will you, Draco? For me alone? Cause I have nothing to give you, but myself. Will you do it for something that might have just come across you and once the passion is spent you’ll be left with nothing? Will you still choose me now, Malfoy? In face of all this? Will you, Draco?!”  
  
The redhead stared at him, straight into his grey wide orbs, his breathing erratic, with desperate pain and a life-time of disappointments echoing from the depths of those captivating blue eyes, dead certain he knew the answer; ready to be torn to bits by it. And Draco just stared right back for a moment longer, hopelessly attempting to stop the time and remember him like that, before their lives changed for good.  
  
“I think I might just die if I don’t,” he finally said quietly, with deadly determination and saw the blue eyes grow from lost and desperate to shocked, incredulous and finally, exquisitely brilliant with hope.  
  
“You can’t mean that…” Ron said, the voice so raspy as if its roughness was the only thing that still kept his feelings, his most cherished hopes at bay. “You can’t… you’d be losing everything. For me…”  
  
“For you – I will, if I have to. No one else will do,” said Draco and stared at him determined, decided and feeling elated as if he had just given away the best Christmas present in his life. “Not a shade of doubt in this Malfoy, Weasley. And I will have that kiss now, if you please.”  
  
And when Ron still stared at him frozen, flabbergasted and pale as a ghost, he smiled at him, the most brilliant, the happiest of smiles and spoke softly: “Now means  _now_ , Ron. Or have you changed your mind?”  
  
He barely finished when he found himself knocked against the wall and the infernal soft mouth all but assaulted him and left him breathless once again. And just like that, Draco Malfoy was whole again.  
  
~  
  
When a few minutes later Pansy decided that a life-long friendship was worth throwing her career to the dogs and stuck her head into Potter’s quarters, wand first, she almost dropped the thing and her hand flew to her mouth just in time to stop herself from screaming. Her best friend in the whole wide world was knocked against the wall with his legs wrapped around the waist of that half-naked divine beast that went by the name of Weasley and the sounds that came out of his mouth left no doubt that whatever that perfectly shaped monster of a man was doing to him, came with consent. Oh, yes…  _so much_  of consent…  
  
“My, oh, my, Christmas did come early for some…” she thought sardonically to herself, still a little stiff with disbelief at the sight of a Malfoy panting Weasley’s name, his  _given_  name, at that. After watching for a few moments longer, completely ignored and unnoticed, and finally feeling her mouth go dry at the sight, Pansy finally decided, with no small regret, that it was beneath her to watch her best friend being pounded into a complete and utter wreck by that gorgeous unworthy human specimen – and that she should probably leave. Which was a damn shame because Weasley’s arse was something that should have its own kingdom and definitely its own fan-club. Pansy was ready to start one after what she saw. Men and women were welcome to join, clearly it made no difference to Weasley.  
  
Well, there was nothing for it now – if she knew anything about Draco Malfoy, it was the fact that he wasn’t sharing and Weasley was as good as welded onto him. For life, she suspected. So she did the only thing that was left for her to do and charmed the biggest fluffiest most disgustingly corny mistletoe above their heads and she tiptoed back to her receptionist desk and sealed the two debauching sinners in for good measure. Serves them right if they get hungry, they could feed on each other for all she cared! With Potter gone for the day, perhaps no one would miss her if she spent a couple of hours at the Floo – the wizarding world is going to fall flat on its old-fashioned arse at the force of nature these two were – and some people might appreciate the warning.  
  
While Astoria - younger, prettier, undamaged, perfectly-bred Astoria - who once stole Draco from under her very nose, was getting a full portion of Pansy’s favourite dish: revenge, served cold. She couldn’t wait to make that particular Floo-call.  
  
~  
  
“Fucking Weasley, he almost ruined my business single-handedly,” mumbled Oliver Wood into the mouth of his lover. “Don’t you ever get such stupid… impossible…  _god, this is good_ … ideas again! I don’t care if he’s your best friend… _Merlin, do that again_ … I don’t care if his yearning heart was killing you…  _mmm, where the hell did you learn this?_ … I don’t care if you’re the biggest fucking fool of a person with the biggest fucking heart…  _and deliciously big other organs_ … in this planet, love… I don’t care if you decided to play Santa early…  _right there, oh, you’re a bloody sex god…_ and would have a whole world flooded with love….  _Oh, god, yesssss…_ I’ve worked too hard for my business….  _Christ Almighty, moremoremore…_. to have it ruined by brutal…. h _arder, harder, dammit_ … stubborn…  _oh, don’t stop, don’t you stop_ … however gorgeous… redheaded…. ex-lovers….  _Harry_!!!”  
  
“Merry Christmas, Oliver.”  
  
“Ohhh… Merry Christmas, Potter… you crazy fuckwit.”


End file.
